


Love Will Lead You Home

by Punrise



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pennywise is mentioned in relation to the history of Derry, Slow Burn, Stan is moody, Underage Smoking, but he doesn't actually appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:04:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punrise/pseuds/Punrise
Summary: Stan has learned two things since he stepped foot in the entrance to Derry High this morning: not to fuck with Henry Bowers and that he hates the curly haired, loud mouthed, hot mess that is Richie Tozier.Stan is the new kid at Derry High. Richie Tozier is the resident trashmouth. What happens when Stan finds out that he's developing feelings for his sworn enemy? How will he react when Richie admits that his feelings mirror Stan's?





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan's first day at Derry High isn't the best.

To put it lightly, Stan isn’t too thrilled to be starting a new school only two days after moving to Derry. It’s, in his opinion, pretty crappy to make someone do that (he’d used stronger words about it this morning in a heated argument with his Mom). He hasn’t even finished unpacking his room at the new house but here he is, on the Monday morning after they crossed the town line, handing over his paperwork to the woman at reception who doesn’t seem all that friendly. He drops his gaze down to his shoes as she scans the pieces of paper that he’d handed over and he fiddles with the straps of his backpack to give him something to do.

It feels like an eternity that he stands there waiting, and he has half a mind to just bolt. His parents would be livid but it wasn’t as if they were blameless in the situation; they were the ones who had enrolled him before they even lived there  
He looks up, finally, to find the woman still scanning the paperwork and a glance at the clock tells him he’s been stood there for around ten minutes. He forces back a sigh, his left hand tapping against his leg signalling his impatience.

“Everything seems to be in order,” The receptionist says finally, and Stan looks up to find her smiling. He gives her a smile back. “Let me just find your schedule and you can be on your way.”

“Thank you.” Stan says as she hands him his schedule. He has fifteen minutes to find his first class which is more than enough time and he looks down at the paper as he leaves the front office.

Chemistry is first. The hallways are practically empty as he wanders around, his eyes scanning the walls full of posters advertising after-school clubs. He almost scoffs at those; who would join a club halfway through the school year? He certainly wouldn’t. Especially not newspaper or any of the sports — roles in those would have been decided at the start of the year, and he’d end up in a shitty one at the bottom of the pile. Not that he’s any good in sports anyway.

He finds his chemistry classroom in a grand total of eight minutes. On the way he’d found his third period math class and his fourth period Spanish class which served to put his mind at ease a little. He knew navigating wouldn’t be the worst part of the day anyway, that was reserved for lunch that he was absolutely dreading. It was one thing being in a class of thirty other kids for an hour whilst the teacher droned on, but it was another thing being in a poorly monitored hall of a couple hundred, unsure of where to sit or stand and being completely aware that you were alone against the threatening tide of potential bullies.

Stan swallows thickly and shakes his head as if that would get rid of the thoughts, pushing open the door to the classroom. There’s a small group of kids already in there, crowded in the corner of the room. They’re laughing at something on a phone but Stan doesn’t care enough, or have enough confidence, to approach them and attempt to make friends. It’s not something that’s wholly important to him; if he doesn’t make any friends the entire school year then so be it.

“I haven’t seen you before.” Stan turns his head as one of the kids speak. He turns around to find them all staring at him, and he can’t figure out which one it was that even spoke.

“I’m new.” Is all he says in response. Socialising has never been his strong point, and he squirms under the others’ stares.  
“Well you can’t sit there,” One of the boys says. He’s short, and Stan can see the top of an aspirator poking out of his pocket. “That’s Greta Bowie’s seat and she’ll have a right fit if anyone else sits there.”

Stan steps back from the desk he was going to sit at.

“What’s your name, newbie?” Another boy, one with a head of curls says.

“Stan Uris.”

“Only the desks at the back are free, Stan the Man,” he continues. Stan raises his eyebrows at the nickname which the boy seemingly misinterprets because he laughs and says, “Hard to believe, I know. But rules are rules and you’re only allowed to sit at the back if there are no other desks available which, luckily for you, there isn’t.”

“Thanks.” Stan gives him a tight lipped smile and heads to the back of the classroom where he takes a seat and starts to arrange his things on his desk.

“I’m Richie Tozier by the way,” The boy says rather loudly, looking slightly annoyed. “Thanks for asking.”

“Sorry, I —” Stan shifts in his chair. It was an honest mistake, but he barely has time to get the one word out before Richie cuts him off.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Totally fine. I was going to offer my friendship but —”

“Richie!” The one girl yells, hitting him on the shoulder. She looks almost angry with him, though not quite, but Richie doesn’t even pause or acknowledge her, still staring straight at Stan who wants nothing more than to just sink into the floor.

“— obviously you don’t care, so that’s fine. I couldn’t care less either way. You’re the one who hasn’t got friends, Stan the Man, not me. Henry Bowers will be all over you and maybe, just maybe, he’ll knock some manners into you.”

The room settles into an awkward silence once Richie has finished and Stan swallows thickly, his gaze focused on his desk. The school day hasn’t even started yet and he’s already upset somebody. Well, a group of people actually. Although he can’t understand why he’s upset Richie so much just by forgetting to ask his name. It’s a silly thing to blow up over, but maybe he’s just having a bad day or something. Stan can relate.

Stan watches as more and more students began to trickle in. He watches as a girl, presumably Greta Bowie, takes a seat in the desk that he had been stood at originally, and says nothing as the group in the corner take their seats around him. Richie is sat directly in front of Stan because of course he is. The teacher turns up with a minute to spare and set his things down just as the bell rings.

“Stanley, would you like to introduce yourself?”

 _Not really,_ he thinks bitterly as he walks up to the front of the class and gazes around the room,  _I'd rather do anything but_. When his gaze falls on Richie the boy sneers and leans back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“I’m Stan and I’ve just moved here from Atlanta, Georgia,” Stan says, clearing his throat and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He looks to the teacher who gestures for him to say more. There is no more, though. He doesn’t think that anyone would be interested in his bird watching. “That’s it really,” He settles on saying. “I’m not that interesting.”

“Very well, although I’m sure that’s not true. You can sit back down.” The teacher says and Stan makes a break for his desk. “If you could all turn to page 209 in your textbooks…”

///

The lunch hall is absolute chaos. Stan grips his tray of food tightly, scanning the area for somewhere to sit. Around him people are yelling and screaming and Stan finds himself wishing that he was back at his school in Atlanta where he was familiar with how it all worked: he knew where he could and couldn’t sit, who he could and couldn’t talk to. He knew where he fell on the social scale. He knows none of that at Derry High (although there’s no denying that he’s near the bottom) and it’s stressing him out. Just a tiny bit.

He eventually settles for sitting on the floor in the lower left corner of the hall. It’s out of the way enough that most people won’t see him and he also doesn’t have to sit there and stare at empty seats around him. It also means that he can see who’s approaching him and he can get up and run if anyone seems threatening.

The food is pretty gross, and he makes a mental note to pack a lunch for tomorrow when he gets home, but he eats it all. He drinks his carton of orange juice which is, for some reason, slightly warm and then he tosses his rubbish and sits back in his spot. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and is scrolling through his Facebook when suddenly his phone is pulled from his hands.

He lets out a startled cry, jumping to his feet to retrieve his phone. He comes face to face with a group of three equally threatening boys, one of whom is grinning at Stan’s phone, reading something on it. Stan knows that it will end badly if he tries to snatch his phone back, so he just stands there until finally the boy looks up. His grin turns into a snarl and Stan’s stomach fills with dread.

“I’ll take it easy on you today since you’re new and all,” the boy says. Stan holds back a scoff. Who does this boy think he is? “You’ve probably heard of me. My name’s Henry Bowers, and I run this school. These two,” He points his thumbs at the two boys flanking him. “Are Belch and Patrick. We won’t hesitate to beat the shit out of you if you cross us so watch out. We’ve put plenty of kids like you in the hospital and we don’t plan to stop anytime soon,” He held out Stan’s phone but as Stan reached out to grab it, he dropped it. “There you go, Uris. Watch your back.”

Stan watches them go, overwhelmed and bewildered. People are staring at him, snickering, and he hastily scrabbles to pick up his phone, coat and backpack, fleeing from the lunchroom with his face a bright, embarrassed red. He’s had his fair share of bullies in his life, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting it, but it’s still embarrassing nonetheless. Especially on his first day. But at least it was over now and he knows who Henry Bowers is so that he can avoid him at all costs in the future.

He splashes some water on his face in the bathroom and consults his schedule for his next class. History. Great. A subject that, besides math, he actually enjoys. Despite there being over ten minutes until the bell and him already knowing where the classroom was (he had passed it when making his way from third to fourth period) he sets off down the hallway.

///

It just so happens that he picks the desk next to Richie’s. He groans when Richie takes his seat and the other boy mimics the noise, adding in a flip of the middle finger towards Stan which he pretends not to see. In the past twenty minutes he’s had his phone stolen and managed to pick a desk, out of all of the desks in the room, next to someone he doesn’t like. It’s definitely not Stan’s day, that’s for sure.

“Learned any manners since first period?” Richie practically hisses. Stan notices how creased his shirt is and wrinkles his nose.

“Ever used an iron?” He shoots back. “It would do you a world of good.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“That’s not polite,” Stan says, turning away from Richie and facing the front of the classroom. “For someone who’s so concerned about other people’s manners, you don’t seem to have any of your own.”

He knows that he shouldn’t respond, that he should just leave things alone, but the opportunity is there and he grabs it. He’s spent too much time letting people take the piss out of him and needs to start standing up for himself against some people. Maybe not to Bowers, he decides, but Richie isn’t all that threatening. Stan’s sure that if it ever comes to it, he can beat Richie in a fight. One on one with none of his friends involved.

“You’re such a—”

Whatever Richie was going to say is cut off as the teacher enters. Stan glances at Richie who’s glaring straight ahead and wants to prod him to finish his sentence, but he decides against it. He’s engaged with Richie too much today and he knows it. So he stays silent and thanks his lucky stars that the teacher doesn’t make him introduce himself.

The class passes quickly. They get given a worksheet that they have to do for the next day as they leave the room and Stan accepts it with a quiet thank you. He pauses, pulling his schedule from his bad to check what he has next when someone barges into him and the paper flies out of his hands. He curses and bends down to pick it up but just before he does someone else grabs it.

Stan straightens up to see none other than Richie Tozier.

“An asshole and a klutz,” Richie says, smirking as he holds the paper out. Stan snatches it back, making sure to give an overly dramatic thank you as he does so. “Luckily I’m spared your pathetic presence in sixth, but Bev and Ben have to put up with you. I pity them.”

“Can’t be worse than having to put up with you, surely,” Stan shrugs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”

He pushes past Richie, putting his schedule back in his bag. Stan has learned two things since he stepped foot in the entrance to Derry High this morning: not to fuck with Henry Bowers and that he hates the curly haired, loud mouthed hot mess that is Richie Tozier.

///

Stan has never been so relieved to see his Dad’s car as he was when he finished school. He runs across the parking lot, wrenching the door open before he tosses in his backpack and climbs in. Once he’s buckled in he takes a moment to relax, letting his head fall back against the headrest as he closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths. It had been a rollercoaster of a day.

“You alright there, Stanny?” His Dad asks. “How was school?”

“I’m glad to be out of it,” Stan answers, opening one eye. “Are you sure that Mom can’t homeschool me?”

“No she can’t,” His Dad shakes his head, chuckling slightly. “Make any friends?”

“No.”

“Stanley,” his Dad sighs. “I understand that you’re upset about the move but sulking isn’t going to—”

“I’m not sulking!”

“— make anything better. We’re not moving back to Atlanta, no matter how much you want to. Derry is your home now and I wish you would embrace that rather than trying to push everything away.”

“We’ve been here two days, Dad. It’s not home.” Stan huffs, glaring out of the window at all of the passing scenery. Derry will never be home to him — it’s just some shitty ass town that his parents decided to move to. As soon as he can he’s hightailing the fuck away.

“Okay, look,” His Dad sighs. “I’m not arguing about this, Stan. If you don’t want to call Derry home then don’t, but we have no plans to move any time soon so you’d better get used to the place.”

Stan doesn’t respond, crossing his arms across his chest as his Dad drives. He’s definitely sulking now, but he doesn’t care. He has reason to. It’s not fair that his parents decided to move and he had to leave behind everything he knows and it’s not fair that they expect him to be happy about the whole thing. Stan hates Derry so far, almost as much as he hates Richie Tozier, and he won’t start loving it until he has a reason to which, at the moment, is nonexistent.

  
He wastes no time in getting out of the car when they pull onto the driveway and is halfway up the porch stairs when his Dad calls his name. Stan rolls his eyes whilst he’s still facing forward and then turns around to face his Dad who is a step below him.

“You’d better wipe that scowl off of your face before you go into that house,” His Dad says. Stan scowls more. “You’re not exactly in your Mom’s good books after this morning so I’d be careful unless you want to be grounded. I’m not sure what’s gotten into you lately — and don’t you blame it on the move; it’s been going on for a while now — but your attitude is becoming horrendous. We’re your parents and you’d do good to remember that.”

“I’m a teenager, Dad,” Stan mumbles. “I’m going to have an attitude.”

“Teenager or not, you should still respect your parents,” His Dad answers. “Being fifteen doesn’t give you a free ride for yelling at your Mom.”

“Yeah and I’m sorry about that,” Stan says. “Really, I am. I feel terrible about it. I’m just saying that you can’t expect me to be all chipper all the time because that’s not how it works, Dad.”

“I know, Stanny,” His Dad rests a hand on his shoulder, his face smoothing into an expression of understanding rather than frustration. “Now come on, let’s go in before your Mom thinks we’re lost or something.”

///

Stan apologises to his Mom as soon as he steps into the kitchen. She accepts it, pulling him into a hug that lasts for too long in Stan’s opinion. When she finally lets him go he heads up to his room. It’s full of boxes and he hates that, but he has no energy to unpack after the day that he’s had so he just flops onto his bed and almost cries into his pillow.

He’s really not looking forward to going back tomorrow and even just the thought of it makes a lump grow in his throat. He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling until his phone buzzes and he pulls it from his pocket. It’s a messenger request from Beverly Marsh and Stan realizes, as he checks out her profile, that she’s the girl who hangs around with Richie. They were together in sixth.

 **From Beverly** : Hi Stan, I just wanted to apologize for Richie’s behaviour earlier since he won’t do it himself. He’s a nice person, really, you just caught him on a bad day.

Stan accepts the messenger request and starts to type back.

 **From Stan** : Hi, Beverly. Thanks for the apology although you really didn’t have to. Richie should be the one apologizing.

 **From Beverly** : The day that Richie apologizes is the day that Hell freezes over.

 **From Stan** : He’s the worst.

 **From Beverly** : Agreed.

He doesn’t know what to respond from that so he just leaves it, plugging his phone in to charge. He stares at the ceiling, unmoving for a couple of minutes before he sits up and runs his hands over his face. He’s got to do the history worksheet at some point, he thinks as he stares at his backpack hanging on the hook on the back of his door. It’s too far away. He’ll do it after dinner.

So he lays there, still staring at the ceiling when he’s called down for dinner. He wants to take his plate up to his room and eat alone but he knows he’ll never be allowed so he just sits at the dining table and only speaks when he’s spoken to. His Mom asks him how school was, and he tells her the same he told his Dad. She laughs when he says he doesn’t want to go back and looks concerned when he says he didn’t make friends. He reassures her that he’ll try better tomorrow, even though he knows that he won’t, and they’re halfway through their meal when someone knocks on the door.

Stan’s Dad moves to answer it and Stan gets up too, curious to see who it is. He’s met with the bitter taste of disappointment when the door is opened up to Richie Tozier’s goofy grin.

“Hi there sir, I’m Richie Tozier, I live just next door and I was wondering if —” He stops abruptly when he sees Stan, and his grin only gets better. “Why, Staniel, I had no idea that this was your house. Looks like we’re next door neighbors, how cool is that?”

“I thought you didn’t make any friends at school today, Stan.” His Dad turns around.

“Ouch, Stanley, you wound me,” Richie says, his eyes full of mischief. “He really said that, Mr. Uris? How rude—”

“What do you need?” Stan asks bluntly, ignoring both of them. “Our dinner is getting cold.”

“Mr. Uris, you wouldn’t happen to have a screwdriver would you?” Richie turns to Stan’s Dad. “My Dad can’t find his, and he needs one for a project he’s working on. I’ll return it as soon as possible. More than likely later tonight.”

“I might,” Mr. Uris nods. “I’ll have to try and find it within the mess of boxes that is our house right now, but if you wait here I’ll go and see. Stanny can wait with you, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, right?”

“Not at all.” Stan says, resisting the urge to scream. Not only does he have to put up with Richie Tozier at school, but at home as well? It’s bullshit.

Both of the boys watch as Stan’s Dad disappears off down the hall, and through the door that connects the garage to the house. Stan turns back to Richie’s who’s grin has disappeared, replaced by a look of disgust that is more than likely mirrored on his own face.

“Not only do you ruin my school life, but my home life too?” Richie glares. “This is ridiculous. When my parents said the neighbors had a son my age I didn’t think it was going to turn out to be you.”

“Oh, I’m the one ruining your life am I? Well, at least I didn’t make your first day of school in a new town horrible,” Stan scoffs, leaning against his door frame. “I think you’re winning on the asshole scale, Tozier.”

“Says the boy who doesn’t have manners,” Richie says. “I wonder how your Daddy would react if I told him about today.”

“Go ahead. I did nothing wrong besides being forgetful,” it’s true, and his Dad would see that (and how horrible Richie really was). “You’re the one who told me to fuck off and called me an asshole. I’d love to see how your parents would react if I told them that.”

“Do what you want, Stanny. See if I care.”

“Don’t call me that. Maybe I will.”

“Found them!” Stan’s Dad appears in the hallway, holding a set of screwdrivers. Stan lets out a sigh of relief. He held them out to Richie. “I wasn’t sure what one you wanted, so just take the set.”

“Thanks Mr. Uris!” Richie is grinning now and Stan wants nothing more than to reach out and slap that stupid grin from his face. “Well I’ll let you get back to your dinner. See you tomorrow in chemistry, Staniel.”

He leaves and Stan watches him go with a feeling of hatred building inside him. He slams the door shut, using way more force than he needs to and then joins his parents at the dinner table again. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the meal and even skips desert in favor of hiding up in his room. He knows that anything he tells his Dad about Richie will be shot down with a “but he seems like a nice boy” and so he doesn’t say anything about it. Stan can tell that his Dad likes Richie and he hates it. Hates how a boy who made Stan’s day one of the worst school days he’s ever had can charm his Dad so easily. It’s just not fair.

Stan has the history worksheet completed in forty minutes, and he’s in the shower by 7:00PM. Just as he turns the water on he hears a knock on the door and is relieved that he doesn’t have to face Richie again. He’s had enough of the boy for a whole year, honestly, or perhaps even a whole lifetime. Just as he steps out of the shower his Dad calls him, and he yells down to give him a second as he changes into his pajamas and blots at his dripping curls.

He’s halfway down the stairs when he realizes he hasn’t heard the door close, and he’s honestly ready to throw a fit if he has to look at Richie once more today. He smiles when he realizes that it’s not Richie stood in the doorway, but a man who Stan presumes is Richie’s Dad.

“Stanny, kiddo, can you go and get a book from my study please?” His Dad asks and Stan nods. “I can’t remember the name, but it’s something to do with woodworking. It’s in one of the boxes closest to the door I think.”

“Sure.”

He finds the book in just under ten minutes and hands it over to Mr. Tozier. Luckily, the man seems a lot nicer than his son and Stan wonders if Mr. Tozier even knows how much of an asshole Richie can be. Probably not — Stan’s own parents don’t know that he cusses, and they’d be mortified if they find out that he does. He would assume the same of the Toziers’; they would probably be angry if they knew how their son was treating Stan. He finds himself kind of wanting to find out how Richie acts around his parents, but that would mean spending more time with the boy and having to put up with him for five days a week was more than enough.

“I best be off,” Mr. Tozier says, pulling Stan from his thoughts. “It was nice to see you both, and let me know if you’d like to come over for dinner one night. It’ll be good for Richie to make a new friend,” he turns to Stan. “I mean I love the friends he has now, but they’ve been friends for years and I’m starting to think that my son is incapable of talking to other people who aren’t in this self-proclaimed ‘Loser’s Club’.”

“I’ll have a talk with my wife and I’ll let you know,” Stan’s Dad smiles. “See you around, Wentworth.”

When the door is closed Stan follows his Dad into the living room, sitting in one of the armchairs.

“If you’re going to dinner at the Toziers’ house, I’m not going,” His voice is defiant. He needs to stop this. Needs to make sure his Dad knows how he feels. “I don’t like Richie and I don’t want to be his friend.”

“Nonsense. He’s seems like a good boy,” Stan could have predicted those exact words. “You’ll come with us and you’ll make an effort to be nice to Richie.”

“But Dad —”

“Go upstairs, Stanley. I don’t want to argue with you tonight.”

Stan pouts but retreats up to his bedroom anway. He spends the time unpacking, until his Mom pops her head in around 11 to say that they were going to sleep so he needed to be quiet, and he gets most of it done. It makes him feel better that his room is no longer so messy. But, when he’s told that his parents are going to bed he stops and starts to get ready for bed himself. His Dad is a light sleeper and he doesn’t want to keep him up being noisy all night, and there’s no point in Stan staying up anyway when he has to be awake early for school tomorrow.

He brushes his teeth, combs his hair and, when he says his prayers, he prays that he doesn’t have to see Richie any more than necessary tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been in my head for weeks and wouldn't leave me alone for the past couple of days so here it is. 
> 
> I'm not sure how often this is going to be updated since the chapters are longer, but I'll aim to update as regularly as I can. 
> 
> [tumblr](http://pun-rise.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry Bowers is an asshole and Richie wants to borrow sugar.

Stan wakes up, with help from his alarm of course, at exactly 6:20AM. He spends ten minutes tucked in bed, scrolling through his social media as he hears his parent’s soft voices in the hallway. He’s too tired to listen into what they’re saying, as he is every morning, and he doesn’t bother trying. At 6:30 there’s a knock at his door and he looks up as it opens, his Mom stepping in.

“Time to start getting ready,” She smiles. “Breakfast is at 7 sharp, be there or be square.”

“Yes ma’am.” Stan gives her a mock salute and she leaves the room. He sits up, puts his phone down and stands up.

He shuffles over to his closet, picks out an outfit and lays it out of his bed. He goes to the bathroom, washes his face, combs his hair, and then returns to his room and gets changed. His pajamas go in his hamper and he checks his outfit in the mirror before he leaves his room. He looks nice, he thinks, and neat. Nice and neat.

His parents talk about mundane things over breakfast: his Dad starting work next week, the rug for the living room his Mom ordered possibly arriving today. Nothing that Stan particularly cares about but at least he’s not yelling at his Mom about going to school this time. Makes a change from yesterday.

“Do we have the stuff for me to pack a lunch?” Stan asks once he finishes. He has twenty minutes before he has to leave.

“We should do,” His Mom nods. “You didn’t like the food in the cafeteria then?”

“My orange juice was warm,” He says, moving to the refrigerator to get out the lunch meat. “I don’t trust anywhere that has warm orange juice. It’s not supposed to be warm, it’s supposed to be cold, and I didn’t appreciate it. It’s also a breakfast drink so why they were offering it for lunch I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t trust anywhere that has warm orange juice either, or offers it at lunch,” His Mom laughs. “There’s an icepak in the freezer if you want to use it to keep whatever drink you take cold.”

“Thank you. Much appreciated.”

Stan arranges what he needs for his lunch on the counter. He makes his sandwiches, slices up an apple and puts that in a small container with a few washed grapes chucked in, chooses a strawberry flavored yogurt and finishes it off with one of the brownies his Mom baked yesterday. He fills up a bottle with water, finds the icepak and quickly hurries upstairs to find his lunchbox.

He’s in the passenger seat of his Dad’s car at 7:50 and the drive to school starts. His Dad has music on but the volume is so low that Stan can barely hear it — what’s the point in that? He gets not wanting to sit in silence, but then surely the music would be louder? He wants to ask but he doesn’t gather up the courage until they’re sitting in the parking lot and he decides against it. He’s getting out now anyway so it doesn’t matter to him.

“Glad to see you’re in a better mood this morning, Stan,” His Dad smiles, clapping his on the shoulder. “Have a good day, okay? I’ll be here to pick you up when you finish.”

“Thanks Dad,” Stan gives his a small smile. “I’ll see you later. Have fun unpacking.”

He climbs out and stands back, waving as his Dad drives off. Turning towards the school he feels a sense of dread welling up in his stomach, similar to yesterday, and has second thoughts. He can call his Dad and say that he feels sick, ask him to come back and take him home, but that would lead to his parents fussing over him the entire day and Stan doesn’t know if he can deal with that. It also wouldn’t solve the problem.

“Staniel!” Someone shouts, and Stan has to hold back a frustrated scream. He hasn’t even been here five minutes. “How are you, my good fellow?” Richie’s speaking in some completely ridiculous British accent and Stan hates it.

“I was doing fine until you showed up.” He says.

“Listen,” Richie stands in front of him. “My folks are talking about inviting you and your folks over to dinner. I need you to make sure that doesn’t happen; there’s no way I’d be able to eat whilst having to sit next to you. You’re way too ugly for anyone to look at whilst they’re eating, and I know you won’t sit there with a bag over your head like you ought to.”

“Whatever, Tozier,” Stan wasn’t in the mood for insults. “Considering how you charmed my Dad last night, I’m sure you can do the same thing to your parents and get them to decide they don’t want us over. This is all your doing.”

“My doing?!”

“Yeah. You’re the one who was probably too lazy to hand back the screwdrivers and made your Dad do it,” Stan shrugs. “If you had brought them back yourself then our Dads wouldn’t have met and none of this would be happening.”

“Actually, my Dad wanted to go over there himself to say thank you or some shit. Nothing to do with me being lazy,” Richie looks furious and a sense of victory starts to fill Stan, although he pushes it away; he shouldn’t feel good about making someone so angry. Richie looks him up and down with something close to disgust and then continues. “Know what, Uris? You can go and fuck yourself. If you want to come over for dinner then fine. Do it.”

Stan laughs as Richie stalks off, towards the front of the school where Stan can see the ‘Loser’s Club’, as Mr. Tozier had called them, gathering. How Richie can make friends, especially five of them, is beyond Stan. It gives him a good chance of making friends though, he guesses. Surely there’ s someone in this shithole who will be willing to put up with him. He isn’t as annoying as Richie, and he likes to think that he’s a good person. He’s just awkward is all, and a little moody, so they’ll have to approach him first because there’s no way in hell that Stan will approach anyone else. He doesn’t have a death wish.

He starts off towards the entrance, planning on getting to chemistry a little early. The Losers seem to be staying outside until the bell rings, so he won’t have to put up with that awkwardness when he takes his seat if they were the only ones in there.

The classroom is, thankfully, empty when Stan enters. He sits in his seat and positions his things neatly on the desk. Honestly, he’s kind of glad that he sits at the back; it means that his things won’t get messed up by people squeezing through the too small gaps between the desks. He’d cried about that when he was younger, frustrated that nothing would stay in its place (and also that people didn’t even say sorry). He wouldn’t do that now of course, but it still makes him angry when it happens although he’s learned to calm himself down. It’s just pens and pencils: he can rearrange them.

As it gets closer and closer to the start of the lesson, more and more people start to trickle in. The Losers are some of the last, and Richie flips him a not-so-stealthy middle finger whilst Beverly waves. Stan pretends that he doesn’t see either of them and stares down at the wood of his desk, reading over what people had felt compelled to carve into them. He pretends to be interested but, really, he’ll never understand vandalism.

///

Things go smoothly until third period math class. He doesn’t talk to Richie, and manages to avoid him in the halls. Luckily, he’s not in the same math class as the boy but he is, however, in the same math class as Henry Bowers. Stan doesn’t know how many grades Bowers has been held back, but it’s clear to see why he has. He shouts and disrupts and doesn’t do his work and Stan wonders how the class has managed to put up with this all year; it’s only his second day and he is over it.

But he doesn’t say anything and keeps his head down. That’s until he’s called up to the board to solve a problem and he reluctantly leaves his seat. Focused on staring straight ahead so that he doesn’t have to see everyone staring at him, he misses Henry Bower’s foot stretching itself into his path.

He falls forward, smacks his head off of the floor and sits up to find his nose and top lip bleeding and his chin throbbing. He cups his hand at the bottom of his chin and lets himself be guided down to the nurse’s office by a girl who can barely keep a straight face. Ha ha, he thinks dryly, that was so funny.

He can hear the teacher shouting even when they’re way down the hall, and he hopes — but doubts — that Henry gets into trouble. Stan’s humiliated and on the verge of tears as he’s being cleaned up and it only gets worse when he realises that there’s blood on both his shirt and his shorts.

Neat and tidy. He was supposed to look neat and tidy. Now he didn’t. He had blood on his clothes.

Fuck. What if it stains? He can’t spend the rest of the school day like this.

Once the nurse lets him go, he hides out in the bathroom. There’s no way that he’s going back to math class again (well, for today at least). He texts his Dad, asks him to meet him out front with a change of clothes. His Dad agrees, and Stan waits in the parking lot, practically snatching the bag from his Dad when he arrives.

“What happened?” His Dad asks, hooking a finger under Stan’s chin and tilting his head up.

“Tripped in the hall and fell,” Stan lies. He knows that telling his Dad what really happened will only make things worse. “I should probably get back now. Thanks for the clothes.”

“Of course. Just go careful, alright?”

He waves goodbye to his Dad and darts back into the bathroom. He gets changed, chucking his bloody clothes into his backpack. He’ll stop on the way to fourth and shove them in his locker, he decides, rather than carry them around with him. He feels slightly better once he’s changed and despite a bruise blooming on his chin and a scab forming on his lip, he looks fine.

He hides out in the bathroom for the rest of third. He shoves his clothes in his locker like planned and is a little late to Spanish because of it, but the teacher doesn’t seem to mind. He slips into his seat and is halfway through getting his things out of his bag when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“What happened to you?” It was one of the boys from the ‘Losers Club’, the one who had told him he couldn’t sit in Greta Bowie’s seat. “Did Bowers get you?”

“Why do you want to know?” Stan whispers, turning around. As far as he’s concerned, whatever he tells to this kid will go back to Richie and he’s not here for that. But the boy doesn’t seem to get the hint that Stan doesn’t want to talk to him.

“I know you don’t get along with my friend,” The boy says, constantly glancing up at the teacher to make sure that he won’t get caught. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends. I’m Eddie.”

“Yes it _does_ ,” Stan hisses and he doesn’t even bother to face Eddie. “I’m not going to hang around with you if Richie is there and, at least in school, you two seem to be joined at the hips. I’d rather not, thank you.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything and Stan doesn’t bother turning around. He doesn’t see any point in it — he doesn’t want to get into an argument in Spanish class; he’s already had his share of embarrassment today. He doesn’t doubt that the incident in math class will be gossiped about and with that, along with being the ‘new kid’, he has enough on his plate without being a friend of a friend to the person he despises the most.

///

Stan finds himself eating lunch outside. He doesn’t dare step foot inside the lunch room, not after what happened in math class — he wants to stay away from Bowers as much as possible. He sits on a bench at the side of the school, overlooking the basketball courts. There’s nobody playing, but there are groups of kids sat on the ground across them. It’s a good place to eat, he notes, peaceful, and a stark contrast to the bustling chaos of the lunch room.

“Mind if I sit?” He looks up to see Beverly Marsh. He doesn’t want her to, but he can’t say no so he just scoots up and gives her a little bit of room. “Thanks. We don’t have to talk about you-know-who,” she pulls a carton of cigarettes from the pocket of her jacket. “Want one?”

“No thanks,” Stan shakes his head. “I don’t smoke.”

“That’s fair,” Beverly hums, taking one out for herself and lighting it. “So why’d you move to Derry? We don’t often have people move here and it must have been a good reason because nobody would move to this shithole if they didn’t have to.”

“Parents wanted a change of scenery,” He shrugs. “They’ve been planning to move for ages, but they could never find the right place until they stayed down here one weekend a couple of months ago and fell in love.”

“Who could love _Derry_?” Beverly laughs, cigarette smoke swirling in front of her. Stan hopes he won’t end up smelling of it once she finishes. “As soon as I can get out of here I’m leaving. There’s nothing here for anyone. Not unless you want a boring ass life with a boring ass job.”

Stan nods but doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know what to say to that really, and it’s not as if he wants to be talking to Beverly anyway. She was only going to go back to Richie and tell him about the conversation — it’s the same with Eddie.

“You’re a lot nicer than Richie,” Beverly says after a while, stubbing out her cigarette on the bench. “If he ever gets too annoying just say ‘beep-beep Richie’ and he’ll stop. But don’t tell him I told you to do that.”

“Beep-beep?” Stan frowns.

“Yeah,” Beverly nods. “It’s what we say instead of telling him to just shut the fuck up. Of course, sometimes that’s necessary but he’ll usually stop if you beep him. He’ll be confused as fuck as to where you heard that too. That’ll be funny.”

Stan isn’t surprised that the Losers have a special term to tell Richie to shut up and he can see how it comes in handy. He’ll have to try it, especially if it’s going to confuse him.

“Is he always such an asshole, then?” Stan asks. “You said in your message that he’s a good guy, but I don’t really believe that.”

“Not so much of an asshole, no, but he has his moments,” She says. “I don’t know what it is, but he seems really bothered by you. We got about twenty messages last night when he found out you were his next door neighbor. It was funny.”

“It is _not_ funny,” Stan turns to look at her so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. “Nothing about that situation is funny. It’s _shitty_. So, so shitty. How would you like it if you lived next to someone you hated?!”

“Woah Stan, chill,” Beverly is laughing again, her hands held up in a mock surrender. “It is kind of funny, you have to admit. You both hate each other and then it turns out you live next door? I’d find it pretty funny if I was in the same situation. It’s like God hates you or something.”

“I’m starting to get that feeling.” Stan mumbles, running his hand over his face. Maybe it’s punishment for his family not attending synagogue regularly or for Stan forgetting to say his prayers some nights.  
  
“Right, well I’m going to go back inside,” She says standing up. “It was nice to talk to you. I’ll see you around, Uris.”

“Bye, Marsh.”

He watches her go. Richie’s friends don’t seem like bad people, he thinks as he returns to eating his lunch, and maybe if they weren’t friends with the loudmouth he would join their group. But, as it stands, he has no intentions of becoming their friends. Maybe if they fell out with Richie at some point in the future, Stan will consider it. He can’t see that happening anytime soon, though.

///

“ _Stanley Uris, what’s happened to your chin?!_ ”

He freezes halfway through the front door as his Mom comes running down the hallway, her expression a mixture of horror and worry. He lets out a grunt as he grabs his chin, turning his head from side to side as she examines it.

“I fell Mom,” He rolls his eyes. He knew that she would freak out about it. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”

“How did you fall?”

“My shoelaces came undone and I stood on one,” Stan lies. “It was just me being clumsy. I’ll be more careful, don’t worry.”

She glances down at his shoes, tied in tight double knots as they always were, and then back up at his face. He’s scared she’s going to call bullshit — force the truth out of him and go marching down the school demanding punishment for Henry Bowers, unknowingly making everything worse — but she lets him go and pulls him into a hug.

“You make sure you’re more careful,” she warns when she pulls away. “I don’t want you to end up in the hospital at any point.”

“It was a fall,” he shrugs. “It happens sometimes, Mom. I’ll be fine.”

She smiles, ruffles his hair and then returns to the living room. He lets out a sigh of relief as he toes off his shoes and places them on the shoe rack. That could’ve gone a lot worse, and he’s thankful that it didn’t. If his parents find out what happened they’d be up the school in an instant and Stan would either die from being absolutely mortified or Henry Bowers would kill him — either way it wouldn’t end well.

He bolts up to his room, closing and locking the door before either of his parents can continue grilling him; he’ll have enough of that over dinner. But he realizes with a smile that, other than when he first turned up to school, he didn’t see Richie Tozier out of class for the entire day. That was impressive. Although he was annoyed by Richie’s friends, he didn’t actually have to listen to the annoying sound of his voice or put up with the goofy grin and searching eyes. At least something went right.

The hour before dinner is spent unpacking, and he finally finishes getting his room together. He takes the empty and flattened boxes downstairs and returns with the vacuum, making sure that it’s spotless. Once he’s satisfied, he puts away the vacuum and sits at his desk. He has homework, an English essay for next week and an online Spanish quiz, that he supposes that he should do (especially the quiz — the teacher can see what date you complete it) but he’s not really motivated enough right now to do either. He’ll do the Spanish quiz tonight, it won’t take him long, but the essay would take a while and he’s better off doing it at some other point in the week. He doesn’t really find it fair that he’s only been there two days yet he’s had three pieces of homework. The teachers really seem to have it out for him.  
  
So he settles on thumbing through his bird book until he’s called downstairs and he leaves his room begrudgingly. He doesn’t really want to talk to his parents, not if they’re going to ask how school is or what he’s been learning about because that’s possibly the most boring conversation that the three of them could ever have. If they were going to ask about his fall then that would be equally bad. Stan’s never been a good liar and although he’s managed it so far, if they keep prodding then he’s going to stumble at some point and he doesn’t want to know what will happen then. He loves his parents, but sometimes they take things too far.

“Are you okay staying here alone for a bit tonight, Stanny?” is the first thing his Dad says to him. “Your Mom and I were thinking of catching one of the late movies at the Aladdin. We’ll be gone for a couple of hours, and won’t be back until late tonight or early morning.”

“Yeah that’s fine.” Stan shrugs as he fills a glass with water and takes it to the table.

“You won’t do anything stupid will you?” His Dad asks, raising an eyebrow. “Can we trust you?”

“Dad,” Stan turns to face him. “I’ve stayed home alone for days before; I was on my own when you came down to Derry that weekend. I’m fifteen. I can take care of myself.”

“Alright, alright,” His Dad chuckles. “I was half joking, kiddo. I know you’ll be responsible but you need to make sure that you go to bed at a reasonable time and that you get any homework done —”

“I will. I’ll start on homework after I’ve showered,” Stan says. “And I won’t stay up past midnight, I promise.”

“Good.”

///

True to his word, after he showers, Stan completes the Spanish quiz. It isn’t that hard and he finishes pretty quickly, wondering whether he should start on the essay. The only problem he has is that he hasn’t actually read the book that it’s supposed to be on. Bram Stoker’s _Dracula_ sits on his bookshelf, untouched. It’s going to take him more than a week to read it but he doesn’t want to rely on _Sparknotes_ , although it will be useful, so he doesn’t know what to do. The essay is on the book as a whole — the structure, the writing techniques, the characters — and he knows that he’s going to fail unless he can gain a super-reading power within the next couple of days.

He decides to leave it alone. Maybe he can talk to someone in his class tomorrow, ask to borrow their notes so he can have at least a chance of passing. In the back of his head he knows that he won’t do it, but he kids himself that he will anway. He settles into bed at around 10. But when he falls asleep around thirty minutes later, he doesn’t expect to be woken up by someone practically pounding down the door around an hour later.

Bleary eyed and barefoot, Stan pushes back his duvet and quickly makes his way downstairs. He assumes that it’s just his parents having forgotten their keys or something, so he doesn’t even hesitate to pull the door open. Instead of his parents Richie Tozier is stood there and his scowls when he sees Stan.

“Where’s your Dad?” He asks. “I was hoping that he would answer and I wouldn’t have to see you.”

“He’s at the Aladdin with my Mom,” Stan shrugs. “So I’m the only one home right now. What do you want so badly that you almost ruined the front door?”

“D’you got any spare sugar?” Richie looks almost embarrassed as he asks, and Stan raises an eyebrow, glancing up at the clock in the hallway.

“What the hell do you want sugar for at 11o’clock at night?” Stan demands. He’s not happy that Richie has woken him up just for sugar. “Can’t you just grab some more tomorrow? Or, I don’t know, ask someone else on this damn street,” he gestures at the house across the road. “They still have their lights on, why don’t you go ask them?!”

“I did, and they didn’t answer —”

“No wonder.”

“— I also tried my other neighbors, but they didn’t have any. Trust me Uris, you were my last resort. Now do you have the sugar or not? I kind of need it.”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to go and check. But what do you need it for? You should be sleeping.” Stan sighs.

“It’s my Mom’s birthday tomorrow,” He says. “I’m trying to bake her a cake but we have no sugar. It’s not going all that well.”

Stan can’t deny him sugar if that’s what he’s going to use it for. He knows that he’d be devastated if he ran out of ingredients whilst trying to make his Mom a cake for her birthday. So, even though he doesn’t want to, he leaves Richie on the porch and heads to the kitchen cupboards. They have a full 500g bag of sugar which he takes to Richie, telling the boy to keep it. He doesn’t want to have to open the door to him again. He writes a reminder on his phone to buy some more tomorrow so that his parents don’t notice.

“Tell your Mom I said happy birthday,” He says as he closes the door. “And that I feel sorry for her having you as a son.”

“You’re fucking rude, Stanley, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Stan calls as he slams the door.

///

Stan walks home from school the next day, stopping off at the corner shop to buy some more sugar. School had passed uneventfully: Henry Bowers had been forced to apologize in front of their whole math class, he’d eaten lunch outside without Beverly Marsh, as predicted he hadn't asked anyone for notes in English and he hadn’t put up with any of Richie’s shit. He was still annoyed with what had happened last night and so had been harsher than usual towards the loud-mouthed boy. Served him fucking right.

When he gets home he sneaks past the living room where his parents are, hides the sugar in the cupboard and then returns to the entryway, taking off his shoes and hanging up his coat. It’s only once he’s halfway up the stairs uninterrupted that he realises something is wrong — his Mom has always practically ambushed him when he gets in from school. He goes to his room, puts down his backpack and returns downstairs.

The Toziers are in his living room.

Mr and Mrs. Tozier sit on the couch with his parents. Richie is sprawled in one of the armchairs, furiously texting on his phone. He definitely doesn’t look like he wants to be there and Stan doesn’t want him there either.

“We didn’t hear you come in, Stan,” His Dad says, standing up when he sees Stan in the doorway. “How was school?”

“Good. Why the visitors?” It’s blunt and rude, and Stan knows it, but Mr. Tozier lets out a chuckle.

“We just thought that we would come along and say hi,” He says. “We thought you’d be home, that’s why we made Richie come, but we just want to get to know our next door neighbors.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Stan would you like to show Richie your room?” His Mom asks.

Stan wants to shake his head, wants to run and lock his door and not come out until the Toziers have gone. But he doesn’t. He politely smiles and nods.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the novel, Stan’s family are way more relaxed towards being Jewish than in the film. Since I don’t know an awful lot about Judaism (although I’m definitely trying to change that), that’s the approach I’ve given them in this fic. I hope nobody minds. 
> 
> [tumblr](http://pun-rise.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

“If you move or touch anything without my permission then you’re dead, Tozier,” Stan says, standing with his back to his door. Neither of them are particularly thrilled about this, but he definitely has it worse; he’s the one who has to show his insufferable neighbor his bedroom. “Capiche?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Richie shrugs. “The sooner we get this over and done with the better.”

“Glad we can at least agree on something,” Stan says as he pushes open his door. “Remember what I said.”

“As if I’d even want to touch any of your stuff.” Richie mumbles under his breath.

Stan rolls his eyes, walking into his room and closing the door behind Richie. There’s an awkward silence as Richie takes everything in, and then he throws himself onto Stan’s neatly made bed — with his shoes on — and Stan clenches his fists but doesn’t say anything, sitting down in his desk chair and turning his back on Richie. They just have to make it until they’re called downstairs again.

“This room is neat,” Richie states. “Too neat. Are you even a real teenager?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your bedroom is tidy, you were asleep before I knocked the other day which means you actually go to bed before midnight and you dress like,” he wrinkles his nose, gesturing at Stan’s outfit. “Well, like that.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way I dress,” Stan shrugs. “At least I can use an iron and actually match colours. You look like a toddler picked out your clothes. How do your parents let you walk around like that?”

“One thing that you’ll learn about my parents is that they don’t really care what I get up to or what I wear,” Richie says. “They like to let me express myself. Do what I wanna do.”

Stan rolls his eyes, swivelling in his chair to face Richie. “Well they really should step in,” He says, looking him up and down. “You look like an idiot. Don’t you get embarrassed?”

“Why would I get embarrassed?”

“Have you looked in a mirror?” Stan raises his eyebrows. “Seriously, you look ridiculous. It’s no wonder Bowers is after you; you make yourself an easy target.”

Richie scoffs but doesn’t respond, slipping his phone out of his pocket instead. Notifications have been going off every couple of seconds, loud and obnoxious as if to rub it in Stan’s face that he had friends and Stan didn’t. Stan glances down at his own phone, not surprised that he didn’t have any notifications to check. His few friends from back home seemed to have forgotten about him already.

“Eddie wants to know if you’ve done the Spanish quiz yet,” Richie says. “Or the English Lit essay.”

“I’ve done the Spanish but I have no clue what to do for the essay,” Stan shrugs. “Haven’t even read the book yet.”

“Psh, nobody has,” Richie laughs. “You just make shit up. Browse Sparknotes quickly and then just pull some random quotes from the book that back up whatever shitty point you’re making.”

“How am I supposed to find quotes if I haven’t read the book, Richie?” Stan raises his eyebrows. “It’s fine, I’m going to ask for an extension and read the damned thing. You might not have read it but I bet your grades reflect that.”

“I’m at an A- thank you,” Richie looks a tad offended. “Would be an A+ but I have a tendency of handing my work in late.”

Stan’s surprised by his grade but not at him handing in his work late. He probably has the teachers wrapped around his little finger and can get away with almost anything, just like he seems to do with his parents (and Stan’s dad, too).

He swivels back around in his chair, grabbing his math textbook from his backpack. He and Richie are going to be upstairs for a while, and he may as well actually do something rather than just sitting there bickering. He opens his notebook and sets about doing the questions he hadn’t managed to finish in lesson. It hadn’t been set as homework, but he didn’t like the feeling of not having completed the exercise and it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. The boys sit in silence (other than the pinging on Richie’s phone) until there’s a knock at Stan’s door and his dad sticks his head in.

“Hey Stanny,” He smiles. Stan wishes he’d stop calling him that in front of Richie. “Mom’s finishing up dinner. Do you want garlic bread?”

“Yes please.”

“How about you, Richie?”

Stan blinks, looking at his dad with a bewildered expression. Richie was staying for dinner? Weren’t they supposed to be going over to the Tozier’s at some point, not having the Toziers over?

“I’d love garlic bread Mr. Uris, thank you.” Richie says, his expression almost identical to Stan’s. They stay silent until they hear the creaking of the stairs and then Richie groans. “No fucking way,” He runs his hands over his face. “Looks like our parents are becoming friends.”

“I’m not okay with this,” Stan shakes his head, standing up. He starts to pace his room. “I swear to God if you’re not out of this house soon I’m going to flip. Isn’t it your mom’s birthday? Shouldn’t you be going out to eat or something? My mom’s lasagna, although nice, is nothing special and it’s certainly not a birthday meal —”

“You really bought that excuse?” Richie laughs, stopping Stan dead in his tracks. “Dude, do you really think I’d be baking a birthday cake for my mom whilst she’s in the house? Especially at, like, eleven at night?”

“Well what did you need the sugar for then?” Stan turns towards him, crossing his arms.

“Bev dared me to do it,” he shrugs, a smirk on his face. “You can have it back if you want.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Stan glares. He has half a mind to just lunge at Richie and slap the grin off his face. But he restrains himself, shoving his hands in his pockets as he leaves his room to head downstairs to the dining room.

///

They’re forced to sit next to each other at dinner and listen to their parents talk. It’s boring stuff too, like jobs and things that need to be done around the Uris house to make it more presentable. His mom wants to repaint most of the rooms, his dad wants to put wooden floors in instead of carpet — it’s easier to clean that way, he says, and Stan agrees — and Wentworth says he’ll help.

“And Richie’s had plenty of experience in mowing lawns if you need that doing,” he pitches in, smiling at Richie who just glowers down at his plate. “He’s not too shabby at it either.”

“It would certainly be a help if you could, Richie,” Stan’s dad nods. “Stanny can help. He needs to start doing more to help his mother and I anyway. He’s become a lot less helpful since we moved.”

Stan can’t really disagree with that because he spends any time that he’s not at school up in his room. In his defence, it’s not really his fault; he had his chores when they were back home but now, in Derry, his parents haven’t bothered to tell him what needs doing. His usual chores, vacuuming, washing up after meals, they’ve both started doing them and so Stan doesn’t know what his jobs are. Maybe once the Toziers have gone, he can ask his parents for some chores and they can sort something out. He doesn’t mind cleaning; it’s relaxing.

“Oh Donald, leave the boy alone,” His mom tuts at her husband, shaking her head slightly. “Stan’s still trying to get used to being in Derry,” She gestures towards Richie. “I’m just glad that he’s already made a friend.”

Stan almost chokes on the lasagna he’s eating. A friend? Yeah, right. He meets his mom’s gaze and realises that all of the adults are looking at him. Chewing quickly, he finishes his mouthful, and then lies:

“Yeah, I am too.”

But he’s not. He’s not glad that he met Richie. Especially not when he looks over and sees he boy’s stupid grin and especially not when he throws an arm around Stan’s shoulder and almost pulls him from his seat and especially not when he opens his mouth.

“Stan’s a real special boy, Mr and Mrs. Uris,” He says and Stan frowns because _what does that even mean?_ “It’s a pleasure to know him. Thank you so much for moving down here!”

Then, the conversation turns to them: how did they meet, what classes they have together, do they plan on partnering up for some of the projects they’re going to receive soon? The questions are practically endless and they have to answer them with fake smiles and lies. Stan feels bad about it, but there’s no other way to get his parents off of his back and if he comes out and says the whole thing is a lie then he’s going to be in a lot of trouble.

After dessert, when they’re back in Stan’s room because their parents won’t stop talking to each other, Richie starts to make retching noises as soon as Stan’s bedroom door is closed. Stan snorts, sitting back in his desk chair. This whole thing is fucking stupid he thinks; he’s being forced to fake a friendship with someone who is his enemy just to please his parents. But, he thinks, at least they’re not fake dating because Stan wouldn’t be able to deal with that at all.

“Your parents are wonderful people, y’know,” Richie says, laying on Stan’s bed. At least he’s taken his shoes off this time, “It’s a shame they got stuck with a kid like you.”

“I can say the same for your parents,” Stan shrugs. He swivels around in his chair, facing Richie who has his eyes closed. “If you fall aslepp on my bed I’ll smother you with a pillow. You’ve been here all afternoon. We’re not having a sleepover as well.”

“Aw why not,” Richie pouts, opening his eyes. “It’ll be fun, Stanny, and there’s nothing more than I want to do with my night than spent it at your house.”

Stan rolls his eyes. The thing is, he likes Richie’s sense of humour to an extent. He likes the insults that he comes out with and the sarcastic comments (not that he would tell Richie any of that). He just doesn’t like the boy himself because he’s rude and whiny and doesn’t know when to stop and not to mention how he seems to have every adult wrapped around his pinky finger and is unable to do anything wrong. He could probably stab Stan and his dad would find a way to blame it on Stan (”Well, yeah, Stanny, but you did kind of walk into his knife”).

Mrs and Mrs. Tozier calling their son down around half an hour later couldn’t be anymore welcome. The boys practically sprinted from the room, although by the time they reached the stairs they were all fake smiles and fake friends.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Stan smiles as they reach the front door. “Bye Rich.”

“Can’t wait for chem,” Richie beams, punching Stan on the arm. It’s harder than necessary, but Stan doesn’t flinch and manages to keep the smile on his face. “See ya!”

As soon as his parents close the door, Stan heads back upstairs again. Sorting out chores can wait, but he needs some alone time after having been subected to Richie for hours. It could tire even the most extroverted person out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter because it just felt right to end it there. Thank you for reading!
> 
> [tumblr](http://pun-rise.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan gets invited into the Losers' Club but wonders if everything is going too fast.

The next day at lunch, Stan sits on the same bench overlooking the basketball courts as he did the day before. He has his lunchbox next to him and his earphones in, blasting music that he’s not really listening to. The school day hasn’t been too bad so far. He’s managed to get an extension on the English essay, he’s stayed out of Richie and Bowers’ way and the classwork in lessons has been pretty easy. All in all it hasn’t been a bad day and, dare he say, he’s actually enjoyed it.

He watches the other milling around on the basketball courts as he eats. It’s interesting, he thinks, as nobody actually uses the courts for their intended purposes. Not at lunch time anyway. Back in Atlanta the court would be teeming with wannabe basket ball players but here it’s just groups of kids who don’t want to be in the lunch room. Whether it’s because of Bowers or maybe they just like being outside, Stan doesn’t know, but it’s not a bad thing. Fresh air is good for you and Stan’s dad is constantly complaining that he doesn’t get enough of it.

“Uris,” Stan looks up at the familiar voice to see Bev walking towards him, unlit cigarette in her fingers. “How are you today?”

“I’m good. How are you?” Stan asks. He moves his lunchbox so that she has room to sit down and scoots up a bit.

“I’m good too,” She nods. “Listen, you’ve got history next right?”

“Yeah,” Stan says, looking towards her as she lights her cigarette. “You’re in my class. You know this.”

“Would you be willing to partner up with me, Ben and Richie for the project?” She asks and Stan raises his eyebrows. “I know you don’t like Richie but we need a fourth member and none of the other Losers are in our class.”

“How do you know we need to be in groups of four?” Stan asks. “I know we’re supposed to partner this lesson but she didn’t say anything about group sizes.”

“She sent out an e-mail this morning. She wants us to have our groups sorted before the lesson.” Bev shrugs. “Ben’s the best in the class, dude, he knows all there is to know about the history of Derry trust me. It’s an easy A if you’re in our group and if you really don’t want to do any of the work then we’ll pick it up for you. We just need to make sure we don’t end up with a complete asshole in our group.”

“I’m not sure that Richie will agree that I’m not a complete asshole,” Stan laughs. He pauses for a moment, contemplating the offer. Sure, he doesn’t like Richie and he’s shunned the idea of being friends with any of the other Losers, but an easy A does sound good (although he’ll totally pull his weight, they don’t have to worry about that). “I mean, sure, I guess. I’ll partner.”

“Great!” Bev grins, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Thanks Stan, you’re a godsend and oddly enough, it was Richie’s idea to ask you to partner.”

“It was?” Stan frowns. That’s weird.

“Yeah,” Bev has a small smirk on her face when she turns to face Stan. “He’s constantly flip flopping on his opinion of you. One minute he hates you and the next you’re the best thing on Earth. You’ve got him all flustered and it’s kind of cute.”

Stan almost chokes on his sandwich, staring at Bev with wide eyes. She giggles before taking a long drag of her cigarette and waiting for Stan to pull himself together and answer.

“I- thats- what?!” He stutters and he can feel his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “He’s known me like all of three days how can I have him flustered?”

“Our Richie falls hard and fast,” Bev says. Stan wonders if she’s just meddling but then what would be the purpose of that? “Don’t worry, he’ll more than likely get over it in a couple of days. He’s not really known for commitment.”

“Oh okay.” That at least makes Stan feel a little bit better. He watches as Bev finishes her cigarette and flicks it onto the floor, grinding it into the asphalt with her shoe.

“Well thanks for agreeing to partner with us, Stan,” She says as she stand up. She holds out her hand and Stan shakes it. “I’ll see you in a couple of minutes I guess.”

“Yeah, see you.” He turns back to his lunch as she walks off, trying to process what Bev had just told him. He had Richie flustered? But then why was the boy so damn rude to him? It just didn’t make sense. One thing was for sure though; Stan didn’t like Richie Tozier. Not one bit. Well, not like that.

///

Bev hadn’t been lying when she’d told him that Ben was the best in their class. The project they had been given was to research an event in Derry’s history and analyse the impact that it had on the town. They’d been given the Kitchener Ironworks explosion. It was a dark topic, but Ben was knowledgeable on it and so they have a strong starting point and at least it wasn’t something boring.

Richie is oddly quiet, Stan realises. He assumes that Bev had told him what she’d told Stan and that he was just embarrassed — Stan would be too, honestly. He doesn’t really agree with what Bev had said but he can’t do anything about it. He just ignores it and keeps up his usual disdain for the boy. As the lesson goes by, Richie gets more and more confident and by the end of it he’s his usual annoying self.

They spend the lesson sifting through the books their teacher had provided them with, finding the basic facts about the explosion. They finished their small fact sheet just before the bell rang and Ben packed it into his bag, promising to write it all up neatly once he got home.

“Are you all okay to meet in the library after school to do a bit more research?” He asks as they’re packing up their things ready to head to sixth. “I mean, I can just go on my own but if you guys want to come then that’d be cool. I really, really want this to be an awesome project and it’s such an interesting topic that we have a bunch of things we can explore.”

“That’s fine with me, Ben. You know I’m all for spending time with you,” Bev says, pressing a kiss to Ben’s cheek. Stan doesn’t miss how Ben flushes the colour of a tomato, but his attention is pulled away by Richie making gagging noises. “Oh shut up. You’re just jealous.”

“I’m fine with meeting in the library,” Stan says, glaring at Richie who’s still making the gagging noises. “You guys are in my sixth, right? We can walk up together, then? Because I don’t exactly know where it is.”

“Sure,” Ben nods. “That sounds good. Uh, if we’re there really late then we can, like, get some food from the diner in town or something, right?”

“Sounds good,” Stan nods. He has to admit, even if Richie’s a complete asshole, he made a mistake in shunning the other Losers. Ben is one of the sweetest people that Stan has ever met, and Bev isn’t too bad either. It’s just a shame about the trashmouth. “We should probably go.” He says, shouldering his backpack.

“Oh crap, yeah,” Bev starts to walk out of the classroom, followed by the three boys. “Rich, you coming to the library with us? You’re the only one who hasn’t answered.”

“Sorry, I was too busy gagging at yours and Ben’s cheesiness,” Richie smirks. “But yeah, I’ll come. Especially if we’re getting food afterwards. See ya then.”

He waves to the group as they split up, Bev, Ben and Stan going one way and Richie going the other. Stan hooks his thumbs under the straps of his backpack, listening to Ben and Bev’s conversation as they walked. They took their seats just as the bell rang out and, although they weren’t technically late, Ben apologised to the teacher for it.

///

When the bell rings, Stan pulls out his phone as he follows after Ben and Bev, dialling his father’s number. He’d already text him to tell him that he didn’t need picking up but he knows that he should tell his dad exactly what was happening.

“Hey Stan,” His father picks up after a few rings. “What’s up? Are you walking home again?”

“No, actually,” Stan says. “I have a group project that we got given today and we’re going to the library to get as much done as possible. We’re going to the diner afterwards so I won’t need dinner at home.”

“Alright. Do you know what time you’ll be back?”

“No. It just depends really. But can you pick me up from the diner?” Stan asks. “It’ll more than likely be late and I don’t fancy walking home in the dark if I’m totally honest.”

“That’s fine,” Stan’s dad says. “What about your friends, do they need picking up? Who are you working on this project with anyway?”

“I’ll ask them,” Stan says. “Uh, Ben, Bev and Richie,” He smiles at the others who turn around when he mentions their names. “I’m going to go. I’ll text you if the others need dropping off. Thank you very much. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“I love you, Stanny.”

“Love you too,” Stan says, ending the call. He hurries to catch up to the other two as Stan had slowed down during the phone call. “Hey, uh, my dad’s willing to take you guys home from the diner if you need a lift.”

“Oh, yes please,” Bev nods. “Thank you very much.”

“If it’s no bother then sure.” Ben smiles.

“It’s no bother,” Stan reassures Ben. “I’ll text him once we know whether or not Richie wants a lift.” Even though being sat in a car for a while with Richie and his dad isn’t very high up on Stan’s list of things he thinks he’ll enjoy.

They reach the library before Richie does. Bev and Stan find a table and set everything up whilst Ben searches through the books. Stan pulls his laptop from his bag and starts to search through online archives to see if there were any newspaper articles they could use when Richie turns up, flopping into the seat beside him. He looks over Stan’s shoulder at what he’s doing, and then straightens back up and asks Bev if he can be of any use.

“You can go find where Ben is,” Bev chuckles. “He’s probably buried under a stack of books bless him.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Richie says with a mock salute. He claps Stan on the shoulder. “Don’t go looking up any naughty stuff whilst I’m gone, Stan the Man. It’s not a productive use of our time.”

“Oh fuck off.” Stan rolls his eyes, not taking his eyes off of the screen on his laptop. He’s found an interesting article, pinning the explosion on a mysterious outsider dressed in a clown costume that is a constant in the eye witness reports. Stan minimises the tab to show Ben when he gets back. It might be worth mentioning in their project considering that the culprit was never caught.

They work quietly for a bit, leafing through books and Google searches and jotting down what they find. It’s definitely interesting, especially to Stan who had no idea that the even had even happened. Ben’s knowledge on it was impressive, too, and when Stan or one of the others would point something out, Ben would elaborate on it with a sparkle in his eye. He didn’t seem shy or easily embarrassed when he was talking about history and Stan found it great — it was nice to know that someone was actually passionate about Derry. Everyone else seemed to hate it. Especially Bev. But even she was entranced with the research that they were doing, hose deep in a book as she quickly scribbled things down in her notebook.

“I think I’m done for the day,” Richie announced two hours later, slamming the book he was reading from shut. The others looked up from their work, slightly annoyed for the disruption, but, it was only when he’d stopped writing that Stan felt the cramp in his hand. “C’mon it’s been like, two hours. I want a burger and a milkshake.”

“We have been going at it for a while,” Bev agrees, flexing her hand like Stan was. “I mean, we have a lot of information even though we haven’t actually put anything into the project yet but we have a whole two weeks to get it done.”

“I guess so,” Ben says, looking around at the various books and pieces of paper they had around their table. “Let’s pack up then. The diner is a twenty minute walk if that,” he says, looking at Stan. “And they do the best burgers in the whole of Maine.”

“S’not to expensive either,” Richie says, shoving his things into his bag. He gathers up the books that he had been using, ready to check them out. “And I agree with Ben. Best burgers in Maine.”

“I’ll trust your opinions,” Stan smiles. He has an armful of books ready to check out too. “But I’ll be disappointed if you’re lying to me.”

“Would we ever?” Bev grins. “Trust us. Plus, their chocolate shakes are to die for.”

///

It’s nearing half past five when they reach the diner. Stan’s shoulders ache from the weight of his backpack and he’s glad to take it off when the four of them slide into a booth. It drops onto the floor with a heavy thud and he leans back into the seat, closing his eyes for a minute. When he opens them the others are staring at the menus and he takes one too, scanning the list.

He decides on just a normal cheeseburger and fries with a small vanilla shake. The others all have their orders sorted by the time that the waitress comes over and takes their orders. Soft music plays from a duke box in the corner and it’s clear to see why the Losers come here so often. It’s only made clearer when the waitress addresses them all by name, stopping when she gets to Stan with a questioning look in her eyes.

“This is Stan,” Richie announces, clapping Stan on the shoulder so hard that Stan winces. Yep, Stan still dislikes him. “He’s just moved here from… well, I don’t know where from, but we’ve adopted him into our group now, I guess.”

“It’s nice to meet you Stan,” the waitress smiles and Stan gives her an awkward smile back. “You must be brave to strike up a friendship with this lot.”

“They kind of found me,” Stan shrugs. It was true; they were the ones who had initiated the friendship (if he’d even call it that — they were just working on a project after all) with him. “But I guess so. Yeah.”

The waitress laughs and then leaves them. She comes back not long after with their drinks and Richie gets up to switch over the song in the jukebox. Stan can’t figure it out — Richie is acting nice to him, which makes sense after what Bev had told him, but how long would it last for? Was it just because the others were around, was it because Stan really did have Richie flustered and he was trying to make amends, or was it because he wanted Stan to let his guard down? It wasn’t as if Stan was just going to drop everything and become best friends with him. He had a lot of things to apologise for that was for sure, and, he had only known Stan for three days. He had been extremely horrible to Stan for two of them.

“So, Losers,” Richie announces when he sits back in his seat. “How are we getting home?”

“My dad has offered to give us a lift,” Stan says. “I was supposed to text him when we were back in the library but I forgot to ask you.”

“Well it would be a bit stupid for me to refuse considering we live next door,” Richie laughs. “So yes please.”

Stan pulls his phone out of his pocket and text his dad quickly that everyone did need a lift. He got a thumbs up emoji a couple of seconds later and quickly sent one back before he locked his phone and pocketed it again. He wanted to be social, not on his phone the entire time.

“We need to add you to the Losers’ Club groupchat,” Bev says when Stan looks up. “It’s a wild ride honestly.”

“Uh, no thanks,” Stan shakes his head. “I mean we’re not really at that level of friendship yet I don’t think. Um, thanks though.”

“Aw come on Stanny,” Richie says, leaning his head on Stan’s shoulder. “I have a ton of nicknames to give you.”

“No, I’m fine honestly,” Stan says. “I’m not a Loser. Well, I’m a loser but I’m not a Loser if that makes sense. Not yet anyway. We barely know each other —”

“It only took Mike an hour or two to become a Loser,” Ben shrugs. “I’d say you’re one, Stan whether we know you well or not.”

Stan doesn’t know what to say to that so he just drops his gaze down to the table and stays silent until the food comes. He wants to be a part of the Losers’ Club; it’ll be nice to actually be a part of something for once but it just seems like everything is going too fast. It feels wrong to be friends with Richie’s best friends when he’s not friends with the boy himself.

He does join the conversation after the food comes and participates in the back and forth banter. It does feel like they’re best friends, and Stan will admit that he feels comfortable with them, but he just doesn’t know what to do about it. There’s no harm in trying, he guesses but he does need to give it just a little bit more time before he considers them his actual friends. Especially Richie.

It’s dark when they finally pay and leave the diner, heading straight to Stan’s dad’s car. Stan sits in the front seat whilst the others sit in the back. They drop off Ben first who leaves the car with a quiet thank you, then Bev who gives Stan’s dad a thumbs up as she leaves and then finally they pull into their driveway and the remaining three climb out.

“Thanks Mr. Uris,” Richie calls as he starts to head to his house. “Much appreciated!”

They wait on the steps to their front porch until Richie is let in and then they head inside themselves.

“That’s a nice group of friends you’ve got there, Stan,” His dad says as they hang up their coats. Stan picks up his backpack from where he propped it against the bottom of the coat stand and nods. “I’m glad you’ve been able to settle in so quickly. It’s definitely a relief for your mom and I.”

“Yeah,” Stan nods. “Anyway I’m going to go jump in the shower and start on some homework. I’ll see you in the morning. Night.”

‘A nice group of friends,’ his dad’s words echo in his mind as he stands under the cascading lukewarm water of the showers. Yeah, right, maybe if it didn’t involve one Richie Tozier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [tumblr](http://pun-rise.tumblr.com)


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